Still Here
by ThreeJays
Summary: Post 2X21 INCLUDES SPOILERS FOR 2X22:  "When push comes to shove, desperation changes everything."  Damon/Elena.  Rated M for serious blood stuff and language - This fic deals heavily with vampy blood stuff - BE WARNED.  Oneshot.


DISCLAIMER: Don't own it. Just for fun.

**A/N: This actually isn't all that great. This is…well, this is a cheap version of a therapy session for a fan who's WAY freaked out about tomorrow's finale. It's not funny. It's not carefully edited and perfectly perfect and the ending's really abrupt. It's WAY less than awesome. But I'm short on time and wanted to get something out in case anyone else is as desperate for Fill-the-blank fic as I am.**

**I will be shocked (and so grateful I'll do cartwheels) if you are kind enough to review. Please, please be kind – bear in mind, this is no masterpiece – this is just a version (there are lots I'd be thrilled with) of something I'd love to see (and never will) tomorrow. I threw it together very quickly, just for fun.**

**For the record. 1. Damon has escaped and has been captured again by Caro and Alaric (Stefan is out of town) and thrown back in the dungeon. He is near the end of the road. 2. THERE IS SERIOUS BLOOD STUFF IN THIS. If you are blood squeamish, this is NOT your fic. (That and language create the M rating). 3. There is a flashback in Damon's POV – a flash WAY WAY back. And he's wacky – if he reads disjointed, that's because he's crazy. Really crazy this time.**

**Please review. And let's all hope tomorrow doesn't crush our souls. Cheers.**

_(((ELENA'S POV)))_

"He won't drink it," I say cradling the phone close and pacing back and forth.

Stefan sighs on the other end of the line. I hear the rumble of an engine in the background. And music. "Can Caroline and Alaric hold him down?"

"They've tried," I tell him, my steps stalling when another blood-curdling scream rises through the floor. Tears prick my eyes and my breath is shuddery and uneven. "He's completely out of it, Stefan. He's like a cornered animal."

"You have to stay away from him, Elena," Stefan warns me and I hear someone murmur something beside him. Katherine.

Oh, I'm _still_ loving that situation.

"We can be back in four hours," Stefan supplies.

Ah, yes. _We._

Fun post-sacrifice development Number One? Damon's werewolf bite. Fun post-sacrifice development Number Two? Stefan heading out of town _with Katherine_ to find a cure. Oddly enough, I had no problem with this. Not for one second did I believe Stefan still harbored an iota of concern for his old flame. Until I asked, that is. You know, just to be sure.

'_I want to hate her,' he'd said, after a silence that was long enough to speak for him._

'_Wait a minute,' I'd said, absolute shock sending me into a strange calm. 'You __want__ to hate her?'_

_Stefan had rubbed his eyes and frowned. 'What I hate is __this,__ Elena. Not knowing what I feel. Hell, feeling anything for her at all. But I can't stop thinking that when I had the chance to kill Katherine, I didn't. I hesitated. I hate myself for that.'_

I was pretty sure I hated him more. But it's not a good time for apocalyptic break-ups, so I put on my big girl panties and stayed civil. We didn't even use words like 'over' or 'done.' We mostly talked about time apart and distance. So we could keep the peace. So we could clear our heads.

So I wouldn't beat the crap out of him for not bringing this up a million years ago when it first occurred to him.

"You should get back to Katherine," I say, trying to keep the bite out of my tone.

"Stay away from Damon, Elena," he says. "See if Ric can vervain him enough to get him tied up. If Elijah really does show up at the meeting spot, we'll get the elixir and try that."

"You won't make it back in time," I tell him.

I wish I didn't have to say it, because I know it will kill Stefan to hear this. Even now, I can barely bear to imagine the anguish that's probably shadowing his face right now. Deep down I've always known that Stefan's never needed me as much as he needs his brother.

Losing Damon will destroy him.

A very small voice in my head tells me it just might destroy me, too. I tell that voice to shut the hell up.

"He would listen to you," Stefan says, gritting out the words. "If you stay outside the cell, you might be able to convince him."

"I'll try," I say.

Stefan takes a ragged breath and I hear his fingers shift, gripping harder on the phone. "Don't get close. I don't want to lose you both."

"I'll call you as soon as I can," I tell him, hanging up the phone.

Damon is singing when I reach the basement. There's fake guitar and screeching high notes and something about taking another little piece of his heart now baby. Wait, I know this. Janis Joplin.

Her version is infinitely preferable.

Caroline and Alaric are poised outside the cell, vervain darts at the ready. Tyler's on a chair nearby, gauze still taped over his arm where we took his blood. Antibodies or something. A pitiful thing for our hopes to rest on, but there it is, a jar of fresh werewolf blood. A jar that still hasn't been touched.

I haven't been down here much. Alaric begged me to stay away, to stay upstairs with Jeremy and Bonnie while they researched. Then, with the best option being a little spell to rev up Tyler's blood, Bonnie's work was done. Which was a damn good thing, because even that tiny spell caused a gush of blood from both nostrils.

I guess that's post-sacrifice development Number 3. Bonnie's magic is broken.

So, magic is out. The elixir is four hours away. I'm not sure Damon's got forty _minutes_ left in him, so this is it. This is all we've got.

"He still won't drink it," Caroline says, and Damon's song trails off into a wet, bloody coughing fit. He slumps over near the makeshift bed, eyes drifting closed.

I lean over to get a better view of the bite. Purple streaks stretch away from the wound in both directions, spelling out his death in angry lines.

"Give me a minute with him," I say softly.

Caroline looks reluctant, but Tyler takes her arm.

"I want a minute with him," I say. It isn't a request.

Caroline gives me a worried look, but finally relents to Tyler half-dragging her up the stairs. Alaric lingers, looking doubtful.

"I need the keys," I tell him, and I show him the stake in my waistband.

Then he looks stricken, his face torn.

"Elena, I can…"

"No," I tell him, snatching the small jar of Tyler's blood from the table. I drop my voice to the barest breath. "I have a better chance than anyone of getting him to drink it. And I'll have the best chance if I'm alone."

"He's not lucid, Elena. He won't recognize you."

"I think he will. And deep down inside, you do, too."

"The stake?" he asks.

"Insurance."

"Be careful. We've already spilled half of it. I don't think he'll need much, but…"

I tell him I understand. I _don't_ tell him I'm not planning on taking the jar in there. In fact, I don't say a thing about what I'm planning because it's so damned crazy I can barely think about it, let alone say it.

Alaric hands me the keys and that's that. We're alone.

I crouch down near the door of the cage, surveying the damage. He's sprawled out sideways, filthy beyond the telling of it, but beautiful too. Like a broken angel, skin too fair and features too heavenly for this hard, dirty place.

_It's now or never._

I take the lid off Tyler's blood and tip it to my lips. There are no words for how vile this is, for how awful and unnatural blood feels on my lips and tastes on my tongue. Six miserable swallows later, it's done. I press my fist to my lips and will myself to hold it down. I barely manage it.

God, I can't believe I'm capable of something so revolting.

Or that I'm this desperate to keep Damon alive.

I

I

I

I

_(((Damon's POV)))_

The wind blows hard through the grass. I think it's saying my name. I wish it wouldn't.

With a sigh, I turn my face up to Mama. She's smiling of course. Mama's always smiling like she's up to something. Her finger comes down, pressing the tip of my small nose.

"Why so sad?" she asks me.

"I think I hate my name," I admit. "Maribelle told me it means demon. Is that true, Mama? Does it mean I'm bad like the devil if I have a bad name?"

She laughs at that and takes me by the hands, swinging me in a circle until I laugh, too. Then she sets me down and palms my face. Looking at my mother's eyes is like looking into my own. Two peas in the same pod, she tells me.

"Damon, Damon," she says, shaking her head. "I shall tell you what your name means. It means: _tame_. Tame and gentle like a puppy or a lamb. Like you, sweet boy."

I cross my thin arms again, feeling my face scrunch. "I suppose that's not much better, is it?"

She gooses my neck and then she is chasing me. We are both laughing and running through the springy grass behind the house, in the space far from Father's study. The place where we can be free.

"Damon," I hear again, and this time it isn't the wind.

And I am not young. Or human. Or happy. I am lying in my own damned dungeon, face in the dirt, waiting to die.

Lucidity sucks.

I hear the groan of the cell door and I twitch, trying to move. Fuck, my arm hurts. _Everything_ hurts. What the hell kind of death is this? Shouldn't there be some slow music and soft lightning. Stefan would have that. Or roses or some shit. And a pretty girl crying.

Wait, I've got one of those.

A delicate sniffle pierces the silence, pulling me out of my drifty haze. The world comes back, sharper and more painful. I take a rattling breath and smell her.

Elena.

I'd try to open my eyes but my eyelids weigh eighteen thousand pounds each right now. And I'm so dizzy I'm pretty sure I'll puke if I try.

Until I feel her hands on my face. Then, I think maybe sight isn't so overrated.

I manage to crack an eye open and wish I hadn't. The makeshift bed they left for me is wadded into a twisted mess at the corner of the cage. The whole place is like the set from a slasher flick. It's a good damn thing I'm dying, because I don't want to be the poor bastard who has to get the blood out of these sheets.

Apparently oblivious to this fright show, Elena is lying next to me, right there in the dirt. Her eyes are puffy and red.

"Where's Senor Save-the-Day?" I ask, and my voice sounds like it gave up on waiting and up and died preemptively.

"I want you to do something for me," she says, ignoring my question about Stefan.

Her fingers twine in mine and I close my eyes, sure this must be another one of my mind games. This one's okay though. As long as she doesn't morph into Katherine or start decomposing right in front of me, this one could last until the end.

I open my eyes and she's still here, watching me expectantly. Her hair is spilled over both of our arms and she smells so sweet. I wonder what it would be like falling asleep like this. Waking up like this. Doing it over and over until I lose track of how many times I've traced the shape of her face with my eyes.

"Damon," she says again, squeezing my hand. "I want you to feed."

I shake my head with a growl. "Do I need to get out the home movies to refresh your memory on how this works? Blood doesn't help."

"This isn't like Rose, Damon. You're not going to die. And I don't want you to drink just any blood. I want you to drink _mine_."

Ha. Her blood. Sure. Joke's on me. Hey, I've got a joke. Knock, knock. Who's there? Wait. Shit, I can't remember. My left eye is twitching. When did that start happening? God, what a fucked up way to go out. I'll probably piss my pants any second now.

"Look at me," she says, as if I have some control over my eyes. "You need to fight this. Do you hear me?"

Loud and clear and it doesn't mean a thing. But I nod, because I'm the Lieutenant Commander of the Pussy Patrol when it comes to Elena.

Even now, half-dead as I am, I'd do anything to make her happy.

I

I

I

I

_(((ELENA POV))))_

His eyes are drifting all over the place, so I know he's not getting this. And I don't know if this will work anyway. Tyler's blood could save him, or it could kill him faster. These damn things are always big with the Catch-22's aren't they?

But there's no time and no choices and I can't lose him.

I just…can't.

I slide my hand into the back of his hair and move him into the crook of his neck until his lips graze my skin. I'm not sure I've got him on my pulse until he goes crazy tense and still. And then he struggles wildly against me, trying to get away.

Yeah, he gets it now.

I wrap my arms around him and hold on with everything I've got.

"Damon, listen to me."

"No," he cries. "No, Elena. Don't!"

He's squirming and desperate and he's still _so_ strong, even now, half a breath from death's door it's all I can do to keep myself against him. His hands are pulling at my arms, leaving pinching bruises in their desperation to wrench me loose.

"Damon, I trust you," I tell him. "And you need to trust me. You need to drink from me. I have Tyler's blood in my system."

"No," he cries, not hearing me, most likely not hearing anything outside the rushing of my blood. "I can't do this. I'm not strong—

He trails off in a gurgle and I feel the scrape of fangs against my throat. I'm close. He's panting hard against me, and his teeth are wicked sharp. I ready the stake, just in case, but wrap a leg around him too, burying my chin in his shoulder to pull him closer.

"Just a few sips," I tell him. "It could make this all stop. It could save you."

He's crying now. I feel the tears against my skin, hotter than I expected. "Don't let me hurt you. Not again."

He finally gets his head arched back from my neck, but I keep him from going far. God, we're a train-wreck. I'm vined around his body, fingers twisted in his hair. And he's shaking his head, trying to skitter away from the girl who's trying to force feed him her blood.

Who's the monster now?

"Damon, please," I say, tears sliding down my cheeks now.

Maybe it's my voice, all cracked and desperate, or the fact that I'm crying. Or maybe he's just too tired to go on.

Either way, he stops, his eyes going blue as the sea.

"Why?" he asks. "Why would you want this?"

"Because it might save you. If you don't try, you'll die. And I'll have to live with that, Damon. I'll have to live knowing I might have been able to help you, but you wouldn't let me."

I feel his eyes on mine and right now he's not drifting. He's right here with me and all the things that bring me back to him over and over are there in his eyes. Courage. Honesty. And love.

Yeah, that's there too, burning so hot that I can barely stand to hold his gaze.

"There is no saving me," he says flatly.

"Damon, try. Please. For me."

"For you," he relents.

He looks so tired. So very tired and pale and unlike everything I know him to be. I am almost surprised when his eyes go dark, his fangs flashing white and dangerous between his lips. I expect him to snap right into me, but he doesn't. Instead, he moves in slow, sighing into the flesh beneath my jaw.

When his lips touch my neck I nearly explode. My heart is pounding. Every nerve ending is jangling. Buzzing. His arm goes over my waist and he is breathing in shudders against my ear. He hasn't done _anything_, but we're both trembling.

"Easy," he pants against me. "I can't…your heart is beating too hard. Too fast."

"I'm sorry," I say, but instead of backing off, I'm curling my arms tighter around him, dropping the stake beside us.

I don't know what's happening. I feel like I'm in the backseat of my car in the tenth grade, clumsy and fumbling and desperate for something I can't put a name to. My heart won't slow down. It'll never slow down with him this close to me.

"I'm sorry," I squeak. "I can't stop it."

"It's okay," he says, and he sounds as breathless as I feel. "It's okay."

Then his hand is pressing into my lower back and I feel his tongue stroke my skin once. He lets out a hungry sound and my whole body pulls tight like a bow. Then he licks me again and I'm the one making sounds. I try to hold them in, but I can't. I just can't.

It's not supposed to be like this. It's supposed to be about saving him from dying. How the hell is this turning into _this_? Into something that's curling like need in the pit of my belly. I'm literally writhing under him. God, I'm going to explode.

And then he pulls up, and even through this monstrous face, I can see his heart. It speaks to me, reminding me that there is a part of Damon that beats and breathes and lives for _me_. And this is why.

This is why I can never walk away.

"You were worth this, Elena," he says. "If this doesn't work, you remember that I wouldn't change any of this."

He drops his head to my neck again. And this time I feel the scrape of his fangs along with his tongue.

I

I

I

_(((DAMON'S POV)))_

I realize this isn't another delusion about the time I slid my teeth into her neck.

For a minute, I just sit there, eyes wide and teeth buried in her neck. And then she moans and it hooks me through the middle. It's over then. There's no coming back from this. Not for either of us.

I pull on the wound nice and gentle but one mouthful of her blood is enough to make my head explode. This isn't some Twilight bullshit about her fine-wine blood, either. Blood is blood. Warm is good. Pumping is better. But straight from Elena's neck with the smell of her shampoo in my nose and the sound of her little, soft gasps in my ears?

Yeah, there aren't words for this. I've never even _heard_ about anything that compares to what I'm feeling right now.

And maybe that's why the pain is receding. Or maybe I'm actually dying now, and everything's misfiring. But I don't feel like I'm dying. I don't feel like I'm quite living either, but I'm edging towards it.

Elena's leg slides up the outside of my thigh and I feel _that_ in a way that's got nothing to do with death. I drag her even closer. It hurts like a mother fucker, but I'm strong enough to do it.

Wait, I'm strong again? Strong-ish at least. The fact rushes through me and I think maybe this crazy girl is right. Maybe she was onto something with her blood. What the hell did she drink?

I try to remember her words, but everything's a blur. And with her arms and legs around me like a vice, I've got better shit to think about than the science behind this magic. I mean, she is _right_ up against me, one hand knotted in the back of my hair, one tangled in my shirt.

We are pressed together from belly to knees. And she's saying my name, over and over in this half-whispered plea that's sending her blood to all the right places.

I'm not going to stop. If I don't pull back now, I'm going to find a way into those jeans of hers and I'm going to change every damn thing between us.

I force myself to release her neck as gently as I can. It's about the prettiest wound I've ever seen, and certainly the cleanest I've ever delivered. It'd be enough to make me proud if Elena wasn't crying.

I slowly extricate myself enough to look at her, my heart clenching. "Elena?"

"You're alive," she says.

"Yeah. You win," I say, still panting.

She only cries harder, little sobs coming out with every breath.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I thought this is what you..." I trail off, having no damn clue where to go from here. I mean, what the fuck? Did she _want_ me to die? Is this whole thing some sort of botched plan to poison me?

She must read it in my face, because her hands struggle free, coming to rest on my face. "It's not that. It's just…I didn't think it would work. I hoped, but I didn't…"

Whatever passes between us is bigger than words. Her thumbs stroke my cheeks and my fingers tremble against her waist. And God knows I'm always one for the shit plans, so I do the one thing I can think of that will ruin this perfect moment.

I kiss her.

It goes about as well as I should have known it would. She pushes me away, her face scrunched up in indignation, palms hard on my chest.

And then she stops, and lets out this little whimper-sigh thing.

It sounds a hell of a lot like surrender.

She goes from that sound to kissing me at vampire speed. Maybe faster.

I can barely process that she's moved when I feel her mouth, her sweet, soft mouth pressing hard into mine. It's so surreal, I barely remember how to react.

But when she opens her lips, there is nothing but hunger and instinct. The kiss is long and slow and deep. She is the sweetest fire I've ever tasted. And with her hands in my hair and her tongue meeting mine, all I want to do is burn.

She pulls away, eyes wet and lips swollen. Her fingers feather over my face. Not once since I've met her have I dared to think about her touching me like this. Like something she treasures.

"You're still with me," she breathes. "You're still here."

"I'm still here," I say, leaning into the softness of her touch and the promise of a tomorrow where we'll both be here.

I don't know what that means or how it will turn out. I just know I'll be here. And that's more than enough for me.


End file.
